


Burning, Burning

by birdybirdnerd



Series: A Hundred Continuities [2]
Category: Pendragon - D. J. MacHale
Genre: Burning alive, Gen, I also don't know how to tag it so, Salem Witch Trials, Witch!Dane, this is pretty fucked up ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8573941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdybirdnerd/pseuds/birdybirdnerd
Summary: He didn't mean for this to happen. It was all a misunderstanding. 
Continuation of A Hundred Meetings chapter 10- Of Hauntings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i wrote that last chapter of hundred meetings and i realized id set everything up perfectly to constitute some angsty backstory for dane. i uh. really wanted to do this. so. um. yeah.
> 
> probs not as best as it could be but i kept losing my train of thought and besides writing shit like this is hard af for me
> 
> if you havent read the chapter of hundred meetings titled 'of hauntings' then this wont make any sense. go read it first

" _Dane! Dane, you need to get out! You need to hurry! You need to go!"_

Dane nearly dropped the jar he was filling when his door was thrown open. It slammed against the wall, rattling the shelves. The words were pouring from his frenzied friend's mouth, almost incomprehensible in their hurriedness. He held up his hand to try and soothe his friend.

"Press, breathe. Speak calmly. Look at me when you talk."

The man was in a panic, and that worried Dane. He was usually so put-together, prim and proper, but not now. He was out of breath as if he'd been running, and his eyes were wide and hysterical as they darted from side to side. He looked as if he were ready to be attacked at any moment.

"What is the matter?" Dane asked.

Press hadn't calmed down, and the question only seemed to fuel his nerves. "There's, there's people coming! I tried to stop them, I'm sorry, I tried to t-tell them they were wrong, it was just rumors, but I'm so s-sorry I couldn't stop them they didn't believe me and now they're on their way and they're gonna, th-they're gonna-"

Dane's stomach dropped. "They what?" he asked in a small voice.

" _They're gonna burn you!"_

The jar crashed to the ground, spilling preserved beets across the floorboards. His hands were shaking as he brought them up to his face, staring at his fingers. Long and pale, and growing paler as the panic set in. He clutched his chest, struggling to breathe.

"Dane! Dane, they're on their way!" Press's voice came to him as the haze started to set in, breaking him out of it enough to hear. "They were gathering in the town square when I ran to warn you, they'll be here any-"

The door shuddered as something thumped against it. A shower of rocks rained down on the side of his house, shattering the window. Angry chanting floated in as the mob got closer, having expended their rocks. The flicker of firelight caught on the glass shards. Dane stared out the window mutely, as the crowd of people with torches and pitchforks grew closer. He didn't think he would have to face this, not this early, not so soon, but as they caught sight of him through his window, their chanting grew more frenzied. They started to run.

Press was shaking him. "Dane! Snap out of it! We have to get you out of here or they'll kill you!"

"I-I-"

"Dane, please!"

"I- they- they're not-"

"What? Come on, please, we need to go-"

" _They're not wrong!"_

Press was shocked into silence, the only sound the shouts from outside growing closer. He looked confused, and hurt, and his eyes kept flickering to the window.

"What… do you mean?"

"They are not wrong, in their thinking of me," Dane said quietly. "In their thinking… of what I am."

Press was trembling. "You mean-"

"I am a witch."

Press jerked as if shocked. He took a half-step back, then seemed to think better of it. Emotions warred on his face- disbelief, shock, horror, and most terrifyingly, disgust.

"You-"

_BANG!_

The door trembled on its hinges. The crowd had arrived, and were banging on his door, trying to tear it down. It was reinforced with basic spells, but Dane could see those beginning to wear thin at the force of the angry mob's hatred.

"Come out and face your fate, _witch!_ " came a deep voice. It sounded familiar, unsurprising.

"Seegan, why do you do this?" Dane called, rushing to lean against the door. It shuddered under the weight of the people on the other side, but Dane whispered a few words and it held strong. No telling how long that would last.

"We all know what you are!" came another voice, this one higher and even more angry. Osa, so usually calm and caring, sounded as if someone had threatened her family. Dane had never heard her so enraged.

"Please, you don't understand-" Dane tried, thinking that if he could convince them he wasn't evil, they might spare him.

But he was interrupted. "No!" Seegan yelled. "You have caused our town harm for too long! We must rid the world of your vile stench, and send you back to Hell from whence you came!"

"I haven't done anything!" Dane protested. "Bad crops happen all the time! Bad weather is natural! Why do you always blame those you despise, for things that would happen otherwise?"

"Because we know you lie!" Osa responded. "Now enough of your chatter, witch! Come out and face us!"

The door shuddered again, faint cracks appearing in the magic holding it together and the wood. Dane turned back to Press, ready to beg him to help hold them off, convince them they were wrong, anything.

And stopped dead at the look of hatred in his eyes.

"You _lied_ to me!" he bellowed, clenching his fists. Dane flinched back, almost losing his grip on the door. It shuddered again and he went back to pushing it closed.

"Press, you know I would never-"

" _Stop!_ " Press brandished something he'd grabbed off the table- a pan, set out so he could cook dinner. Now it would be a weapon against its owner.

"All your talk, all your promises and laughter and everything you've ever said, was a _lie._ And I can't believe I fell for it!" He advanced on the cowering witch, raising the pan to point as he yelled. "Well I'm not falling for it again. I'm never falling for it again!"

He grabbed Dane's arm, hauling him up. Despite towering over the other man, Dane was dragged along as if he were a rag doll, unable to resist. Press pulled him away from the door and kicked it down.

The magic broke at the same time the wood did. It splintered out, giving way for the hands that reached in. They grabbed on Dane's tunic, pulling him through the hole they'd made. He tried to pull away, but Press shoved him through. The splinters scratched at his arms, leaving burning marks that dripped blood on the dirt. His long black hair caught on the ragged wood, pulling out clumps and making him bite down on a scream.

He made it through and was thrown to the ground. A circle of townspeople surrounded him, glaring down with their torches raised high. Seegan was closest, his long grey whiskers shining in the torchlight. His face was twisted in a sneer as he planted his boot on Dane's chest.

"Too long, have we suffered under your rule, spawn of Satan," he growled, the malice in his voice making Dane's heartrate spike. "Now we return you to the hole you came from."

He fisted Dane's tunic, dragging him up. Dane struggled to get his feet under him, but every time he got close to standing someone swept his legs out from under him again. Pain flared up his leg as his ankle twisted.

"Please, listen to me!" he cried. "I mean you no harm! None of what happened was my fault! Please!"

He turned his eyes to Press, who was standing in the broken doorway, arms crossed. He looked away from Dane's pleading gaze, his own features set in stone. He didn't watch as they dragged his friend away.

Dane felt panic setting in. His vision swam as they yanked him forward, towards town. In the distance, he could see a pyre being set up, bales of hay dry from the drought that plagued them piled around the base. The sight of the pyre fueled a new hysteria. Dane pulled with all his might, the pain in his ankle forgotten as he tried to get away.

"Please, no, please you have to let me go," he begged, bile rising in his throat. "Please it was all a misunderstanding, a-a mistake, please you can't burn me alive _oh God please save me!"_

But nothing happened, the townspeople continuing to drag him to his doom.

Something snapped inside the witch, and he screamed.

All around them, dry plants burst into flame. Darkness swam at the edge of the forest, writhing and latching on to ankles, legs, pulling at arms. The terrified mob dropped Dane to swat at the fires, to get away from the swarm. He fell to his knees in the dirt, his dark clothes shredded and his skin bleeding freely. He swayed on the spot, then stumbled to his feet, backing away. Feeling a pull in his gut, Dane resisted the urge to set the place ablaze and forced the fires out. The darkness subsided, thrashing at the edges of where reality met madness.

"Please," he whispered, his hoarse voice carrying over the crowd. "You have to listen-"

But their momentary terror had disappeared, and they were reinvigorated with their hate. Chants of ' _Burn the witch!'_ consumed his senses as they rushed him again.

He threw up his hand and a wall of flame leapt up, separating him from the crowd. They stopped, staring through the flickering lights at him. Hatred burned in every pair of eyes, brighter almost than the unearthly fire between them. Dane felt himself weaken, terror spiking in his heart. He was running low on energy. He couldn't keep this up for much longer.

Something sailed out over the crowd and struck Dane, leaving a long gash on his forehead. He stumbled, the flames flickering before he could focus again on them, bringing them back. They were weaker than before.

Another rock came from nowhere, barely missing Dane's eye. He stepped out of the way just in time, but another slammed into his gut. He gasped.

"What-"

Suddenly, everyone was dropping to the ground, scooping up rocks. They threw them at him, aiming for anything they could reach. Stones came from above, cutting his arms up even more and making him dizzy as he tried to move. The flames dropped lower and lower as his concentration slipped, the few that hit their mark blinding his mind with pain.

A particularly large stone came down on his temple, temporarily making him blind. His vision blacked out, coming back in flashes.

The wall of fire was gone, the ground singed where it stood. The crowd rushed him, still throwing rocks. Now unable to dodge them, they came down from all sides, bruising and breaking bones and forcing Dane to curl up as best he could. Blood dripped in his eyes, obscuring his already poor vision. He cried out as they converged upon him.

He was vaguely aware of being lifted up, the world tilting around him as he was moved. He passed out, coming to a moment and several hundred feet later. They raised him, moving his arms and propping him up in such a way that sent panic flooding through his sluggish veins. Dane struggled to move, to fight back, but his injuries pulled at his consciousness, urging him to sleep. He resisted.

He became aware of chanting, shouting, and a strange warmth that spread around his feet. It felt sort of nice, to his muddled brain, like someone was swaddling him in a warm woolen blanket. His eyes slipped shut.

The pain started immediately as the fire reached his feet. His eyes snapped back open and a strangled scream left his lips. The fire licked at his feet, smoke curling up and around his legs. He coughed, struggling to free himself, but the rope knotted around him tied him to the pyre. It was futile.

"Wait!" he screamed, coughing. Tears slipped down his face, though not all were from the smoke. "Please, I'm begging you! You have it all wrong!"

They chanted, the anger in the crowd all-consuming. Their hysteria matched his as the flames grew taller.

White-hot pain flared through his feet, climbing steadily higher as they ate and ate. Dane screamed, his throat raw as he jerked away from the fire. His mind was racing, running, fighting to stay conscious but also to leave, because if he were dead he wouldn't have to feel the pain of being burned alive.

He choked. _Please!_ He begged, to any power that listened. _Please, spare me! I'm begging! I'll give anything you want, whatever it is! I'll give my soul, I'll give my mind, anything, just LET THIS END!_

But nobody came.

Sucking in a breathful of smoky air, Dane _howled_. The earth trembled, thunder rolling through the dark sky as his voice carried to the edges of town. People screamed as buildings crumbled around them, the dry earth catching and burning. The shadows exploded from the woods, long murky tentacles piercing the bodies of the murderous townsfolk, pinning them where they stood. Their bodies hung from the trees like grotesque lanterns, their faces still twisted in hate.

Dane sparked, the fire that was eating through his legs having reached his body. Lightning danced off his skin, unnatural, unearthly. Charred fingertips clenched as the sparks grew. Dane's eyes flew open, solid blue, and his voice doubled in intensity.

When the screech reached ear-shattering levels, Dane threw his head back and the world imploded around him.

* * *

_Dane… Dane…_

_Dane._

"Dane!"

Bobby was shouting. Dane snapped out of his haze, the fire in his spirit abating. The blue glow that had been growing in intensity faded, returning to its original pale white. He looked around, confused.

_What just happened?_ He focused on letting the letters form on the journal in front of him.

Bobby was staring at him, which should have been impossible. He gulped, then stammered out "I-I don't know. You were writing something, a story I think. I asked you how you died, and then you kinda… drifted away."

Dane looked down at the journal sprawled across the human's lap. His neat script covered most of the page, though as it got closer to the end it grew more hurried, more frantic. Then it scribbled into nonexistence.

"I kept calling your name, but it's like you weren't there," Bobby continued. "Then I noticed it was getting warmer, and I thought maybe you'd just left. But it started getting hot, and I noticed this glowing, and a sense of panic? And I thought I saw you, for a moment there. But you're gone now." Bobby hesitated. "Are you… Are you okay?"

Dane nodded, then remembered he was invisible. He concentrated on the journal again.

_I am fine, I think. It was nothing, just a flashback. I am fine now._

Bobby shook his head. "No, you're not. I can tell. It's my fault, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked about how you died, that's a very personal thing. I was being insensitive, I'm sorry."

_It really is fine. I shouldn't have let myself be overcome by that. It is in the past._

"Yeah, but it was big," Bobby retorted. "You're allowed to be affected by it. It's part of human nature, and it was _kind_ of a scarring experience, I bet."

Dane chuckled. _Yes, it kind of was._

Bobby smiled, staring at the words. He seemed lost in thought, and the smile slipped off his face. "I am sorry about asking that. I shouldn't pry."

_No hard feelings._

"Thanks."

Bobby set the book aside and sighed. A moment passed, before he spoke again. "Did you say your friend's name was… Press?"

Dane's heart-or what used to be it-stuttered at the name. He focused on the journal again. _Yes. Does the name ring a bell for you?_

Bobby nodded, confused. "Yeah, it's just- That's funny. That's kinda funny. I should probably ask him about that, if he has any relatives from around here or something. Huh."

_What?_

"It's just," Bobby hesitated. "Never mind. It's not important. Probably just a coincidence."


End file.
